


Pushing up the Strangle Vine

by RGmolpus



Series: Last Messages [5]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Musings on Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RGmolpus/pseuds/RGmolpus
Summary: Gregor thinks about death and the existence of his half-brother Cezar Vorresiak.





	Pushing up the Strangle Vine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ivan and the Armsmen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303994) by [Rose_Milburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Milburn/pseuds/Rose_Milburn). 
  * Inspired by [District Affairs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152225) by [Rose_Milburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Milburn/pseuds/Rose_Milburn). 



Gregor stood at the side of the steel table. 

On it, here in the bowels of Impmed, was the morgue where all who die on Imperial Soil in the Vorbarra district come for examination and - dispatch, lay the clay of his (possible?) Half-brother. Still and cold; bare of clothing, pale, still and -missing-. The wound that had ended his life was neatly sutured closed; The autopsy had gutted his body; two long lines of staples marred his abdomen and chest, and another circled his head. The Pathologist and Anatomist were writing their reports; he doubted he'd read them. Let this lie still in a cabinet or computer store forever.

Gregor kept his attention on the still face of Cezar; "Might I have some privacy?" His staff retreated out of the chilly room. Gregor knew that they'd stand guard at the doors of the room until he left.

He stood silently, examining the face of his half-brother; so similar to what he saw daily in the thousands of portraits and photos spread across the city. 'You could have been my stand-in so many times, when the crowd needed a body to wave and gesture.' swept through his mind. 'I could have been at my desk, working while you did nothing but smile, wave and read a prepared speech.'

"We'll never know."

Gregor pulled a work stool to the side of the table, resting on it as he bent over the slab. He poked, timidly, at the cold form, a small thought - 'will he wake up?' whispered in his ear. "We'll never know why you became so horrible, Amon. You had more then I did, growing up. You had a Mother and Father; a safe home to live in, never had a worry that you'd be shot or exploded, or have to run away into the mountains - you never wore a collar so tight is rubbed your neck raw.. What happened to you?

Did the still form hear him?

"What went wrong? Did pulling the wings off flies get to boring? Did beating up other kids at school become your only fun? What went wrong?

Our Grandfather, Yuri, had a reason for being a mean bastard; growing up hiding in the hills, fighting the Cetagandanas; learning to kill and maim without remorse in combat - and approving even worse things done by Piotr and the other generals? Then trying to change to ruling in peacetime; slapping the Counts into line; breaking them of the independence the war had given them - he had a thousand reasons for being a mean SOB... but did you? I don't even like to hunt; It took a lot for me to take my first deer; with General Piotr watching me. 

Where did you go wrong?

Where did I go right? Cordelia had a lot to do with it, and Aral; and Alys; They couldn't be my real parents; but Cordelia held me when I was scared during storms; and Aral taught me how to ride and swim - I was his healthy son; the one who could run and fall, and climb and play; not like Miles, who could break his arms leaning on a fence. Ivan was my little brother - did you have one? Was there a boy next door for you to play with? did you run in the rain; play in the mud?

But now you're here, all your mistakes ended. Everything gone..."

Gregor picked up the still hand, lying pale and still. He looked at it with curiosity - comparing it to his matching hand. The lines and grooves of the hand were similar - but not the same as his own; deeper in places, shorter - not an imitation, not a duplicate. Someone had cleaned the nails; trimmed them neatly; there were callouses on the mounds of the palm; grown in the way a hand that had been holding a rifle stock for hours attained. 'What had you been doing so far away from here?'

He laid the hand back on the table carefully. In this time, in this place; respect for someone who hadn't respected him was important. He still breathed; Amon didn't. Such a small difference...

'This is what I might have been - what I feared I might really be - now I know I'm never going to be what my father was. Here is what I would have become; had I had my father in me. You're Sergs' child - I'm Kareen's. That's the difference.'

Someone knocked on the door, Gregor started at the surprising sound. He looked at the wide double doors; Armsman Gerard looked in, apologetically. "Sire, one of the mortuary staff has arrived with a new - resident. He'd like to come in and do his... duties"

Gregor waved his hand to approach; the double doors opened and a gurney rattled in, pushed by an attendant. He was short, wide, clearly strong; this hair cut tight on his head. His head just appeared over the gurneys' top, and he leaned into pushing the cart. With ease he guided the gurney around the room, to put it end to door on the wall of individual shelves of the mortuary chiller.

"Sorry to bother you, sire; but my customers are demanding, they get really rude if they don't get their beauty sleep." He pulled the insulated door open, withdrew the sliding table inside, and with smooth motions transferred the form from the gurney and slid the body into the chiller. The door sealed with a sucking thump.

He filled in some lines on the forms that were in a clear envelope hanging from the side of the gurney; Gregor was faintly amused by the man's disregard for Gregor's presence - the man seemed to not care that the Emperor of Barrayar, Komarr, and Sergyar was standing next to his near-duplicate. Being so - ignored- was, interesting.

"Sorry for this, Sir, but while they are dead, the paperwork isn't. Get it done first, then it's done fast, and the job's easier - it the same for you?"

"Um, yes; though my paperwork never seems to end."

The man dropped the papers on a desk, then came to stand on the other side of the gurney from Gregor. "Never knew you had any kin, Sir; must've been really hiding from everyone." The attendant shifted his gaze from the body and Gregor quickly; "Not the first time I've seen a family be surprised by an unexpected relative - it's a shock to find someone sowed wild oats early on, and now they've got a bushel-full of problems. Their problems are over, but yours just got started."

"I didn't get your name?"

"Ah, I'm Pauline Thurber; chief mortuary attendant. I've been on your payroll, and your grandfather's payroll, for decades. Almost everyone who dies on Government soil in the district passes through these wall, so I get to see everything, especially the stuff that's not to be spoken of. I remember, I was just promoted to Chief Attendant, when your Grandfather got brought in - the place was full of Doctors, Politicians, Counts - I could barely do my job. I finally pulled rank - you might say - and opened a bottle of ammonia; that cleared the place out.

In fact, sir, this may have been the gurney Emperor Ezar was laid out on... I marked that one with a label to remember it by; but it came off a couple of years later."

Gregor twisted his eyebrows at this factoid - a bit of historical coincidence that had no predecessor thought. "That one wasn't taken as a relic?"

"Nope; the one they got for that was the one he left on; but that wasn't the one he arrived on, or moved him around for - ahem - all they did to him. I was doing the moving; I know."

"Anyway; I've seen to many families gathered around someone they lost, weeping and wailing about how their boy shouldn't have died. Everyone claiming he was a nice boy, never harmed anyone - when I could read from the report what a stinker he really was. Kids like that may be charmers, but the way they die says all that's needed about what sort they were. Nice guys don't get a needler to their chest, or a knife in their guts.

\- Ah, excusing me, Sir."

"No, that's alright. He wasn't" - Gregor gestured - "a nice man for years. I never knew he existed until recently; we had no chance to be close. Whoever he really was..."

"It's to late to know now." finished the Attendant. "I never care who they were before; I care for them as equals here. Death is the great leveler; and I'm one of the people who smooths the way."

Gregor took a final look at the form of Omar - or Cezar - cold, still, slightly blue, and sighed. "Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust -"

"- This young fellow, he done fucked up." 

"- Yea, that's impolite; but being dead is when the truth about a person comes out." Pauline said. "If he'd been smart - smarter - he'd not be here, waiting for his turn to fertilize some flowerbed. That's what the standard orders are for anyone who isn't claimed. We hold them until the cops say they can't find a relative; then it's off to the crematory; and what's left gets mixed with topsoil and fertilizer for the flowerbeds in the National Cemetery.

That's cheaper than a pine box and a grave; better than tossing him - her - into the ocean. "

Gregor thought of all the unusual decisions he'd had hit his desk; now very glad this never had appeared for review. "Ah - how long has this been the policy?"

"Oh, since before my time. It probably goes back to Emperor Dorca; maybe before. I recall that, way early, the ashes were used anywhere in the city that needed them - mixed in with the bags they gave away from the Imperial Stables. Families couldn't claim the bodies of anyone who'd been put out to post, so grabbing a sack or two from the stables gave'm a chance to maybe take a bit back home to the family plot."

"I... don't think I'll ask for anything special for him.." Gregor finally admitted. "He wanted to hide... be hidden. May he bring some color into the world... " He couldn't finish the thought.

Pauline reached to smooth the body's hair. "It's the best way, sir. Good, bad, friendly, or a sour scootch, I treat them all the same. Ashes and Ashes, Dust or Rust; Feeding the flowers is fine and just.

Might I put him away?" 

"Oh, yes." Gregor stepped back as the Attendant swung the gurney in an easy sweep; opening a hatch and pulling the tray from inside to extension in a small tug. Shifting the body was a matter of a few tugs; then a push to put the form into the chiller. "With the current schedule, the corpus will be part of next week's batch, unless orders are given. From there, the remains goes to the groundskeepers at the Cemetery, it's up to them when they make a new batch of potting soil. I expect he'll be resting there - somewhere - within a month." The Attendant looked at Gregor straight on - "It's the ones who mean something to us that really hurt; sir. Even if it's not what we like to remember about them; they mean something. You might not have meant a thing to them - but look where they are; All that they lost; all that you've still got. You get to go on - they've stopped."

"Yes, he stopped. I go on." Gregor softly breathed.

Gregor nodded thanks to Pauline, who nodded in return. He didn't offer to shake hands with Gregor; Gregor turned to leave the chamber; pausing at the exit doors, Gregor turned. "I - Thank you for your time, Mr. Thurber. An end can be a better beginning, correct?"

"Quite often, Sir, especially from here."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a melancholy tale; Gregor had not integrated the news that Omar/Cezar existed during the brief time after he was told of his existence. This is the only time he had to 'meet' his half-brother; he's being slammed by all the guilt and regrets be gained when he learned about what type of man Serg had been.
> 
> He'd made an internal settlement with himself after the War of the Hegen Hub; his conversation with Aral about Serg was hard on both of them; and some of what he was told and shown on Escobar, during his return trip, was very painful.
> 
> This time with Omar has allowed Gregor to fully release all his guilt at being Serg's offspring and the Escobar Campaign. He's seen what being Serg's child would've meant, and the results and consequences. That burden is laid away; he's Kareen's, Cordelia's, and Alys's Child; with a large dose of Piotr, Aral, and Simon. 
> 
> \-------
> 
> I threw in the stuff about where the remains went by mixing the fact that people who were put out in the Main Square for exposure wouldn't be returned to their Families, and the story that a minor war had started when one Emperor had tried to reserve all the 'fertilizer ' from the Imperial stables for his own land; the custom being that it was first come, first served. Mixing the ashes from any cremations in as filler would be the most parsimonious disposal method..... Waste Not, Want Not!
> 
> \---------------
> 
> Yes, I have a warped sense of humor.


End file.
